Sigh
by Darren White
Summary: Sometimes, the words that speak loudest are the words that are not spoken. Series of loosely connected, short oneshots set shortly after the SS Rescue arc. Contains Ichigo/Rukia and one-sided Renji/Rukia.
1. Weight

Ichigo sighed and pulled the damp towel from his eyes. The door of the all-too-silent closet in the corner called to him; promised that the _next _time he opened it in the middle of the night, _she'd_ be back. His life remained subdued after the petite shinigami left, and Ichigo couldn't help feeling like one of Yuzu's unfinished puzzles. Part of him wasn't where it belonged, and he knew it. Everyone around him probably knew it as well, but he didn't give half a damn. _Half. Heh. _It seemed that sooner or later, everything he thought about came back to fractions. Which decidedly did _not _help with finishing the essay on his desk.

He forced himself to take another look, this effort just as fruitless as the last. The textbooks slid onto the floor, along with piles of blank paper and an unread, probably pornographic manga from Keigo. Ichigo scratched his neck and sighed again. He'd slipped into somewhat of a melancholy routine for his evenings that revolved around sleep and the slamming of a closet door.

Each time it slid shut, the voice in the back of Ichigo's head began prodding him again. _Just one more time_, it pleaded, _one more time and you'll never have to do it again._ The voice lied, of course. No matter how much he wore the tracks down, the closet remained empty. The pair of yellow plaid pajamas Ichigo kept under his mattress remained cold. He ran his fingers over a wrinkled sheet of notebook paper; the _only _object he considered more important than his own life. The smiling rabbit and frowning bear stared up at him, their colors fading and smeared; the characters around them were almost illegible from too much handling. Ichigo smiled as he recalled the explanation that accompanied them, his first baby steps into the world of a substitute shinigami.

Not being able to walk through downtown without having every image of Chappy send a spike through him wasn't easy. Watching Karin and Yuzu play with a Chappy doll wasn't easy, either. He couldn't even _hear _the word_ "_rabbit" without sending a hopeful glance over his shoulder, only to have another piece of his puzzle thrown to the floor.

Her smile killed him the most.

She looked so damn _cute _when she smiled. Her violet eyes lit up, and her cheeks got those damn little dimples in them. Ichigo _hated _it when she smiled, since that one expression often managed to convince him into spending his last handful of yen on more Chappy paraphernalia.

He wished he could see her smile again.

Wished he could watch her eyes light up.

Wished he could waste more money buying her useless shit that would only gather dust under her bed.

Wished he'd been honest with her back in Soul Society.

Wished he'd kept his arm around her longer on the Souryouku.

Wished he were stronger, so he wouldn't have needed Renji to help.

Wished he hadn't kept his mouth shut like a dumbass.

_She wanted to stay_, Ichigo told himself. _ Anything you could've said wouldn't have changed a damn thing._

It would've taken some of the weight from his heart, though.

At the moment, that was all Kurosaki Ichigo needed.


	2. Flannel

Rukia sighed and hugged the blue flannel tighter. Blankets served little use in Sereitai, since seasons never changed in the world of immortal souls. Her surroundings in the Kuchiki mansion, devoid of any personality or superfluous comfort, reflected that. The incongruous blanket came from a house in the little town of Kurakara, from the room of a student-turned-shinigami. Rukia nuzzled her face into the folds again and let the fading scent take her from a soft mat and into a cramped closet. Let the feel of the soft fabric against her skin recall a pair of faded, yellow pajamas.

If she held her own breath long enough, she could hear his again.

She could still remember his stupid-looking, perpetual scowl. He used it like a shield; hunkered beneath his armor, he was almost unreachable. Rukia had seen the scowl drop, had seen under it a boy willing to fight and die for his friends.

For her.

Tears stained the already damp flannel as Rukia watched the scene replay over and over in her mind. He lay on the pavement, a shattered sword in his hand, his life's blood trickling onto the slick cobblestones. Amber eyes pleaded with her – _why? _The hurt on his face came from more than external wounds, Rukia knew.

She'd betrayed him.

And yet…

He still placed his life on the line to defend hers. Still risked everything he had to pull her iron from the fire she'd stuck it in.

_The worst part is that he won_. She knew the cost of her rescue. Seven ranked shinigami and countless unranked warriors fell before the sword of the boy who placed others' lives before his own. The boy who placed _her _life before his own. Rukia didn't think he'd forgotten about what she did to him. When she told him she would stay in Soul Society, the same hurt look sprang into his eyes.

His eyes were the chink in the armor.

Through the crack, she saw a bloodied boy on the street looking up at her in desperation.

_"I'm glad," _the armor said._ "If you're staying of your free will, that's good!"_

Armor cracked again as he clenched his fist.

The bloodied boy whispered her name into the driving rain. _"Rukia…"_

Just like last time, she left him alone. Rukia sobbed into the blanket, pleaded with the cloth to forgive her for what she'd done. Forgive her for being such a bitch. The lack of response only made the tears flow faster. She curled her knees to her chest and cried, begged the inanimate night for things she knew it could not give.

Salty dampness overpowered the gentle scent of warm flannel.


	3. Second

Abarai Renji sighed and pushed cold food around his plate. A pair of ornate chopsticks clattered against a wooden table as he stood and paced the room, his mind churning beneath a head of bright-red hair. _She _was safe, that much he knew. Bandages around his chest and arms reminded him what the cost of her safety was. At least Rukia could sleep in her own home tonight, and not have to worry.

She did anyway, he knew.

But not about him.

Not about his injuries or about how goddamn close he'd come to spilling it all to her.

No, she worried about the boy with orange hair and a massive zanpaktou. About the boy who single-handedly gave the entire Gotei 13 their asses on a silver platter.

Even as he held her against him during the escape, Renji knew where Rukia's heart lay.

It became even more obvious after he mentioned the boy's name. Rukia's violet eyes came to life, and her small mouth opened. Renji saw it every time he shut his eyes; saw just how much she cared for the boy more than him.

It reminded him of the years spent at the academy, of countless hours spent in the woods training with a katana until his hands bled. The sensei at the academy all smiled and nodded at him, promised him that with his potential he could become a great fuku-taichou. Those words never failed to send him back into the woods to train harder, to push past the chains that bound him to mediocrity.

The band on his arm should have felt like an accomplishment.

To Renji, it served only to amplify the caged bitterness inside his heart.

He didn't want to wear the armband. It sailed across the room and through a paper wall every chance Renji got. He _hated _that goddamn thing, hated the reminder of how he managed to consistently fail to meet the standards for first place.

She'd shared his feelings at one time, Renji knew. He's seen it in her eyes before.

Not now.

She didn't look at him like she used to.

Her hands didn't stay on his shoulder for longer than they should, anymore.

His heart refused to acknowledge which failure hurt him deepest – that which bound him to the armband, or that which lit up Rukia's eyes at the sound of another's name.

Renji pressed his forehead against the doorframe and wondered why, even now, he could not move farther than second place.


	4. Alone

Zangetsu sighed. Above him, dark clouds floated through usually blue skies. The boy was troubled, he knew _that _for certain. He walked along one of the many featureless buildings. The booted footsteps of the vast city's only inhabitant echoed off tall walls before becoming inaudible. A drop of water landed on Zangetsu's hand. Lately, it seemed, rain fell more easily in this world than usual.

Zangetsu hated the rain.

It gave him a feeling akin to that of a shipwrecked man.

Utterly alone.

Rain sharpened the already intense solitude.

The sky formed an ethereal bridge between himself and Ichigo, and through it, Zangetsu knew the condition of the boy's heart. Regardless of external circumstances or appearances, the sky of this world always showed Ichigo's true feelings.

Zangetsu felt an overwhelming sadness.

He wanted to help the boy.

It seemed that Ichigo still wanted to forge ahead by himself. The sky never lied. Rain would fall soon, unless Ichigo listened. He _had _to listen.

_Trust in me, Ichigo. You are not fighting alone. I will lend you any strength you need, if only to stop the rain._

Two raindrops fell onto his sunglasses.

More began to patter on his head and on the roof of the skyscraper.

He looked to the sky.

_What's wrong, Ichigo?_

The rain began to fall harder.

Zangetsu sighed again.

Ichigo could not stop the rain on his own.


End file.
